Eternian tales
by Kiltedforpleasure
Summary: some short stories about our heroes and villains of Eternia. rated M just to be sure.


A perfect day

The sun stood high in a flawless blue sky and graced the landscape beneath her with a warm golden glow. All in all it was a perfect day. But the Masters of the Universe had no eye to spare for the beauty of their world. Not yet.

They had tracked down Skeletor and his evil henchmen. It was a game they all seemed to play anew each passing week; a game with rules seemingly set in stone and yet simple rules; rules they all understood. Evil plotted against the forces of Good and Good finally triumphed over the forces of Evil. It was a carefully balanced system in which each player had his place. Little did they know that their long-practiced routine would end this day: little did they know that the balance of power would be shifted.

But for now all that counted was their stand off. As many times before the masters alongside He-man faced and fought the evil warriors. This time they had tracked them down by the steep-sided embankment of a fast running stream. The river below them sang and echoed his ancient song – a melody otherwise soothing to the mind, as was the sight of sparkling crystal clear water droplets in the sunlight. The sky was cloudless with the vibrant blue of a summer's day. A perfect day: one that stood in almost mocking contrast to the scene high above on the lip of the gorge.

He-man and Skeletor stood face to face, each weapon in hand, each confident. They stood as they had many times before. And at each champion's side stood their second in command. Man-at-arms at He-man's side carefully watching the back of his friend: Evil-Lyn at Skeletor's side, a suspicious eye on both her master and his rivals. The others respectfully kept their distances.

A crimson glow appeared in Skeletor's otherwise empty eye sockets: a sure sign that he was displeased.

"You have troubled me long enough, He-man!" he cried in his high-pitched, evilly cold voice. Its chill echoes sounded hollow among the rocks.

He-man couldn't help but roll his eyes at his enemy. This was something he had heard many times before and the hero knew what the dark sorcerer was about to say. As expected Skeletor continued and He-man nodded slightly in acknowledgement as the well-rehearsed scene played itself out.

"Today I shall end you! The Power will be..."

Skeletor stopped abruptly as if suddenly remembering something very important. The angry red glow in his eyes faded. He-man cocked one eyebrow but remained silent, patiently awaiting what his long-time opponent had to say.

The bonefaced sorcerer lowered his Havoc Staff; his posture slumped a little forward.

"...mine..."

He finished, his voice barely a whisper. For a moment he stood motionless, the gaze of his hollow eyes unfocused and tilted down.

"What's wrong Skeletor? Forgotten your lines?"

He-man wanted to sound light-hearted as he always did when he mocked Skeletor. But now he sensed a concern which invaded his voice; something felt terribly wrong, though he could not identify what. The young hero shot a glance at his mentor, but Man-at-arms only frowned back in shared incomprehension.

And then the moment was gone as the Havoc Staff fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Skeletor gazed down in disbelief at his now limp hands. Then he swayed, taking a step to the side to steady himself. But his legs seemed too weak to support his bodyweight; he stumbled and took another step until he stood steady again. He lifted his head slowly and opened his mouth to speak. And He-man's eyes grew wide with shock – for his adversary's skeletal features were again clothed in flesh – and human eyes stared back at him; eyes filled with a dread knowledge – and misted with pain.

And Skeletor – now Keldor once more – opened his mouth and blood leaked out from it as his lips moved soundlessly.

"_Folly_," he whispered in a thread of voice. "_Folly_..."

And then he fell. He-man leaped forward, trying to reach Skeletor and keep him from pitching back down the steepness of the slope. But he was too slow and gripped at air instead of an arm – and was forced to watch in impotent horror as his long-time enemy tumbled limply over the rocks and fell far into the river below. The waters swirled; the dark cloak surfaced once – and then was taken away by the swift sweep of the current.

He-man at once threw the Sword to Man at arms and drew breath to dive – but Duncan's arm about his shoulders restrained him as he prepared for the plunge.

"Too late," he said. "He's gone –"

"Gone indeed!" said a triumphant voice – and He-man, released, turned slowly around until his gaze met that of Evil-Lyn. There the witch stood, smiling, with a long dagger in one hand and the Havoc Staff, her prize, in the other. The dagger was wet with blood. Thick droplets ran down the blade and fell to the ground glinting a dull red in the sunlight.

"Come now; don't look at me like that," she said in her most voluptuous voice. "Admit it: I have but enacted the secret wish of your own heart – and rid you of your worst enemy. Something which you, for all your strength and skill, could never steel yourself to do. Though of course," she mused, "no-one will ever now believe that this death was not your doing – and word will surely spread, so I fear that your – spotless – reputation will undoubtedly suffer somewhat..." She smiled archly, well-content with her day's doings, while He-man stood in shocked silence, staring with wide blue eyes as her words penetrated.

"I shall leave you with that thought to dwell upon. And so farewell, He-man – until we meet again."

With that she turned and walked unhurriedly away, her hips swaying slightly from side to side. She went – and the much-daunted Evil Warriors fell in sullenly, silently behind her – and followed.

The Champion of Grayskull stood a long while in unmoving silence, unaware that the masters had left as well; unaware of time's passing; unaware of anything but the mocking laughter of the river – and a strange sense of loss.

He stood still with lowered head and unseeing eyes until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder: the touch of his mentor that offered reassurance and comfort.

"Come away, Adam. Come on home. There's nothing more to be done."

His eyes were steady, his voice calm – and with a last look down into the gorge the young man nodded slowly and obeyed.

Behind him, the stream continued to sing its ancient song undisturbed by the drama that had played out above – for such matters of humankind were but ephemeral.

The sky was yet blue, the sun still high: it was a perfect day.


End file.
